


Scars We Hide

by Nationless



Series: Scars We Hide [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon compliant-ish, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, kinda angsty, probable medical inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nationless/pseuds/Nationless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes knew from a young age not to ask his ma about the scars that popped up without prior injury. She'd just get upset and insist he was far too young for these things. Steve's ma on the other hand.... She had no qualms telling him that those scars'd help him find his soulmate one day. But what he never told Sarah was that he already knew who that was. Because who else had that scar down their chest?</p><p>Or: the five times Bucky woke up to new scars, and the one time Steve did</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to their respective creators. This work is unbeta'd and any mistakes are my own.

When he was young, Bucky Barnes never thought to question why his mother and father had matching scars on the outside of their right thumbs. Or why it was a family scandal that his uncle had a scar through his left eyebrow, but his wife did not. When you’re a child, you don’t think to ask why teenagers were glancing at their partner’s faces, looking for any hint of a mark that matched their own. It was just something that happened, and by the time he was five Bucky understood that when his older cousins would talk about it in his ma’s small apartment, Winifred Barnes would get pink in the face and tell them they were far too young for such matters. He understood that the subject was off-limits.

So he never asked, and he never even considered asking her, at four years old, why they panicked when Rebecca was born with a small scar on her palm. It was just how things were, and it wasn’t something he should think about.

That started to change when Bucky was seven. He’d never thought too much about talk of how partners would get marked like each other, just wrinkling his nose when the adults would talk about it before scampering back outside to play. Maybe he’d go by the complex across the street and see if Stevie was free, or if his ma thought that his new friend was too tired to go outside.

They’d met the year prior, Bucky’s knuckles splitting on the teeth of one of the three kids who’d been beating up a then-six year old Steve Rogers, for no other reason than he was smaller than they were. After dragging the scrawny blond kid to his home to get him patched up, the rest was pretty much history. They were always at each other’s sides if they could be, and no one thought to question if it was strange or not. After all, they were just friends. And Bucky was Steve’s first friend, which carried a whole new weight of importance to both boys.

Looking back, it would be that cold morning in early March of 1921 that marked everything between them as ‘different’. Weeks still before his eighth birthday, and months before Steve’s seventh. Waking up, nothing really seemed any different than it had before; it was cold, and he tried to remain burrowed under the small pile of blankets for as long as possible. Nothing hurt.

But when he finally roused, grumpily pulling off his sleep clothes, he paused, staring down at himself. Even at his age, he knew it wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. But there it was, right down the center of his chest, almost perfectly straight down. A long, gnarled scar that he had no recollection of earning himself. Not that Bucky had any of his own to begin with, nor did he ever find strange ones that he didn’t remember, like the one Becca sported across her knuckles that they all assumed was from the cat.

He couldn’t look away, eyes painfully wide as he stared down at the skin that had changed so much in his sleep. It terrified him. What was he supposed to tell his ma? His heart hammered in his chest, immobile for what felt like a minor eternity, when it was doubtful five minutes had passed before his disgruntled mother came into his room, already starting to lecture him.

“James, I know you don’t want to go to school, but it’s important. You have to be more—“ She froze the second Bucky looked up at her. Everything about her looked put together, from her done up hair to the well-pressed dress. Well, everything except the sudden pallor of her skin and the wide-eyed fear that overtook her face.

His skin burned with shame, shoulders hunching in as he tried to hide the pink, puckered skin that ran down his chest. Like he could forget all about it just by shielding it from view. “It doesn’t hurt,” he murmured, bright grey eyes dropping to the worn wooden floor. “It doesn’t hurt, ma. It’s ok.”

Maybe she had nodded. Or maybe not, but Bucky didn’t look up to check. He didn’t even bring his eyes up to the floor until the door closed heavily after hearing his ma’s choked off breathing. It was hard, but Bucky forced the rest of the day to proceed as normal. He smiled at his ma and promised to be good before going off to school, and worried when he didn’t see Steve on the playground. Which meant he wasn’t feeling well again and that he’d have to go check on him.

He didn’t go straight home after school, not sure if his ma was still upset with him after this morning. Instead, he went over to the Rogers’ apartment across the street, knocking on the door and hoping Mrs. Rogers was home, and not working. Thankfully, the door opened to reveal a worn-down looking Sarah Rogers, wispy blond hair in disarray around her soft face that broke into a smile when she saw Bucky. “I was wondering if you’d be showing up today,” she said, opening the door wider to allow the boy inside. “Stevie’s resting right now, but you can come in and sit with him if you’d like.”

Bucky frowned, toeing off his shoes in the doorway. “Is he sick?” he asked, gently setting his backpack down and shrugging out of his coat.

Her blue eyes tightened just a bit, and she shook her head. “No, honey. He just had to go to the doctor to get his heart fixed, that’s all. He’s simply tired, all right? There’s nothing to worry about.”

His heart. Right, Stevie had a hole in his heart. How could he forget that? Bucky’s frown deepened, glancing down at his own chest for what felt like the hundredth time today. Maybe she could tell him what happened to him. After all, she was a nurse. She could tell him that it was all ok.

“Mrs. Rogers?” he asked hesitantly, shoulders once again curling in to protect himself. “What’s it mean when people get scars randomly? I mean, I got one on my chest, and I dunno how, but it doesn’t hurt…”

Unlike his own ma, Mrs. Rogers didn’t wince at the mention. Barely even reacted to it, that he could see and it made him relax enough to uncurl from himself. She wasn’t going to be mad at him. “You’re still a bit young to understand,” she said slowly, leaning down to brush a few locks of dark hair off his forehead. “But it just means someone who will be very important to you was hurt. It’s just your body letting you know that something happened.”

Bucky frowned, brows pulling together. Someone important to him. It didn’t really explain too much to him; barely more than what he’d already heard from his own extensive family.

She sighed, straightening up and tugging at the hem of her skirt. “Your ma or I will explain more when you’re older, all right?”

And there was that excuse again. Bucky huffed, hating how that was always the answer he got whenever he wanted to know anything. ‘When he was older’ they’d explain. He was getting real tired of hearing that. Still, he smiled at her, nodding before scuttling off towards Steve’s room once he got her permission once again.

Steve was sleeping, like he expected. Soft, blond hair messy against the hard pillows, thin pale hands curled up atop the blankets. He looked calm, peaceful in a way he didn’t look when he was awake, despite the way his breath rattled in his chest like it always did. Sick or not, Steve was always moving, running about as fast as his legs and lungs would let him, yelling at anyone who tried to talk down to him or Bucky. Never knew how to just leave it be, and maybe Bucky wouldn't have it any other way.

He decidedly didn’t like it, but huffed as he threw himself into the beat up chair in the corner of Steve’s room, just waiting for him to wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky tries not to think about it again until he’s fourteen. Over the last six years, a lot of things had changed, though the ‘too close’ bond he shared with Steve did not. The word’s reception to that, however, started to get just a bit colder. Not much yet, but enough that the two of them had learned to keep a few steps away in the public eye.

It didn’t make too much of a difference, in private. Bucky still draped himself across Steve’s lap on the small, threadbare couch in the Rogers’ apartment. He still ruffled through that soft blond hair, letting the strands tangle between his fingers.

For that matter, Steve had no qualms with adjusting Bucky so that he was more comfortable. He’d huff and toss the older boy’s legs off his lap, or shove his arm aside so that he could nestle up against Bucky’s side as he drew. It was a mutually beneficial system for them, so long as they kept it behind closed doors.

Scars kept turning up over the years. Tiny nicks along his forearms, across his palms, and at least one showed up on his cheek. Unlike the first one, they didn’t draw his ma’s attention, and Bucky had learned better than to ask about it from her.

The schools seemed to agree with her on the matter of not talking about it. Anything Bucky had learned about it, he had learned from the older students instead of anyone with an actual semblance of authority.

But for six long years, no large, discernable scars appeared on Bucky. He’d gotten nothing but small cuts that he may have gotten himself from the number of fights that he’d had to drag Steve out of, because god only knew that he still couldn’t say no to a fight.

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” Steve would mutter every time, shrugging off Bucky’s helping hand the second he was upright. He’d straighten his worn out clothes, huffing and grimacing when Bucky dragged him back to one of their places to patch him up.

They’d always try to go to Steve’s place, since his ma was usually at work anyways and the Barnes family had been steadily expanding to the point where Bucky was now the eldest of four. Their now-cramped apartment was hardly the best place to settle in and clean up the cuts and bruises Steve had gotten during their scuffle.

And still, whenever Steve didn’t turn up for school, Bucky would go straight to the Rogers’ apartment across the street to check up on him. He’d long since stopped checking in at home before, and his ma had long since stopped asking why he was home late because she already knew.

This time, when another scar showed up, Bucky tried not to stare at it too long. A thin, jagged thing across his stomach, just above his hip. Bucky just closed his eyes, forced the sudden revulsion down, and buttoned up a new shirt as quickly as he could so he didn’t have to see it.

At least it didn’t bisect the first one down his chest. There were still inches between them and, for some reason that gave him a sense of comfort. He tried not to touch the newly raised skin, and tried not to even glance in its direction if he could help it.

After letting his ma know that he was heading over to Steve’s, Bucky was out the door and knocking on the Rogers’ door within minutes, waiting impatiently for someone to answer.

He didn’t know how much time ticked by with no change. There was no rustling heard behind the door, no footsteps or voices calling out that it’d be just a moment more. After maybe five minutes of waiting, he finally gave up. Steve wasn’t home, which meant he was either out getting in trouble somewhere, or… Well, Bucky’d rather not think about that too much.

The streets were rather barren for the end of summer. Despite the fact that no one was in school, it seemed most of the city had decided it was far too hot to be outside and most of the areas were more empty than not, despite it being the middle of the day.

Bucky grimaced after not finding Steve in any of his usual places, and ended up going to the hospital where Mrs. Rogers worked. It was the absolute last place he wanted Steve to be, but it was also looking like the most likely place he’d find him.

Sure enough, it wasn’t even minutes after walking into the hospital that he found Sarah Rogers, looking considerably more frazzled than usual which was definitely not helping with the knot of nerves in Bucky’s gut.

“What are you doing here, Bucky?” she asked, a deep frown etched on her face as she tucked a few stray strands of wheat blond hair back behind her ear.

He shrugged; a small smile on his lips despite the fact that he was pretty damn sure that something was wrong with Steve again. “Lookin’ for Stevie. I stopped by your apartment, but no one was there, so I figured…” Bucky ducked his head, feigning just a bit of humility over the whole thing. He doubted that Mrs. Rogers’d be mad or anything, but he was figuring out that with just a bit of what his ma called ‘charm’, he could get away with just about anything.

Which was a really good thing, considering how much trouble Steve got him into.

She offered him a soft smile, even if the worry was still there in her eyes like it almost always was when Steve wasn’t around. “Steve should be getting out of surgery soon. I don’t know when he’ll be allowed to have visitors.”

Bucky tensed up. Surgery again? No wonder she was looking so out of sorts. Why hadn’t anyone let him know? Illogical as it would have been for Mrs. Rogers to leave the hospital to let him know, Bucky wished someone had at least called. “Is he all right?” he asked, brow creasing out of worry. “I mean, what happened? He didn’t say he was feelin’ off or anything…”

“He’ll be all right, Bucky. You of all people should know how much of a fighter our Stevie is; it’s just appendicitis.” She nodded firmly as if she was so sure that her words were true. And it was doubtful she’d accept any sort of argument from Bucky on the matter.

He mimicked her, forcing his hands not to fist so he could slide them into his pockets instead. Maybe it would help mask the way he could feel them shaking. “Can I stay here and wait for him? Promise I won’t bother anyone.” As if that was ever a concern, honestly. It wasn’t him who managed to wreak havoc wherever he went.

She bit her lip, glancing around the bustling room before leading him to sit in the waiting room, promising to get him when Steve was stable enough to have company again. Though she did try to dissuade him, letting him know it could be all night before that happened. It wasn’t like Bucky was going anywhere when he knew that Steve wasn’t in good condition. Even if he knew that he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

So he waited for several hours, only sneaking away to let his ma know where he was gonna be and ignoring her protests on the matter. His feet tapped nervously against the cheap linoleum flooring as he paged through a worn out paperback he’d read a thousand times already.

And he was damn thankful when Mrs. Rogers eventually brought him back to Steve’s room, where he was hooked up to a collection of monitors.

If this wasn’t so common, honestly Bucky would be a lot more anxious about it than he already was. His smile was tight as he thanked Mrs. Rogers and almost laughed when she insisted, for the hundredth time, to call her Sarah.

As soon as he was sure she was gone, Bucky reached out, placing his hand over one of Steve’s. “Damn punk, always givin’ me a heart attack,” he muttered, settling down in the rickety chair for guests. Once again, he prepared himself for a long wait, idly paging through his book through while the sun started to creep below the horizon.

* * *

 

It was a week before Steve was finally home again. An entire week that Bucky spent mostly by his bedside, despite the growing objections of his family and even Stevie who just insisted that Bucky ‘go the hell home, I’m fine’.

But finally, Steve was home and unbandaged, with just another week and a half before classes started again. And yet, Bucky was still by his side, sprawled out on their threadbare couch while Steve used him as a glorified cushion to lean on while he drew.

He tugged idly at his shirt, frowning as he glanced up at Stevie for the umpteenth time that hour. “I’m starting to think that this ain’t a coincidence,” he said conversationally, as if the blond had any sort of idea as to what Bucky was talking about.

Even if Bucky had never mentioned it before.

“What’s that, Buck?” he asked, not even glancing up from the rough paper he was bent over.

He tutted, gently nudging Steve’s side where they both knew he’d been stitched up. “Remember when you were a kid and had your heart operated on? Not like you could forget something like that, but y’know.”

Steve sighed, setting down his charcoal and turning to give Bucky his attention. “What about it?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, deciding now was as good a time as any to address it. When Sarah wasn’t in the apartment and there was no one around to hear them. “You got a scar from it, I’m guessing? ‘Bout five inches long, right down the center of your chest?”

He could feel the tension suddenly crushing the room, Steve’s big blue eyes narrowing in his direction as he scooched closer to the edge of the sofa. “Do I wanna know how you know that? You been lookin’ at me while I change, Barnes?”

God, of course that’s directly where he went. Bucky felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he shook his head quickly. “Course not, Stevie. I just…” He trailed off, fingers fumbling with the top buttons of his shirt just enough to show the beginnings of his first scar. “Woke up to something like that the same day. Same thing happened when I came to see you at the hospital before.”

The air was heavy between them, neither willing to actually look away even as horror made itself clear on Steve’s still-pale face.

He shouldn’t have said anything. He should not have said anything; he was gonna lose Stevie over this and then where would he be?

Red started to spread across Steve’s face, even if his hand was steady when it pushed Bucky’s away from his shirt front. “Lemme see,” he murmured, brow drawn as he inched back to where he had been. Nearly pressed against Bucky’s legs.

All Bucky could do was nod wordlessly and let Steve divest him of his shirt, and then push his undershirt up as far as he could without removing it.

The pair of them were more pink than not as Steve simply stared at his chest; his hands lingering bare inches away from the gnarled scar that spanned the length of his ribcage. “’T’s just like mine…” Worried eyes flicked up to focus on Bucky as he drew away. Fear tightened his thin shoulders. “It’s just like mine.”

He took a shaky breath, tugging his undershirt back down. That shouldn’t be true. Didn’t matter if he knew it was, but at the same time? This shouldn’t be talked about. Not just because Steve was still too young, but…

“Shouldn’t be happening with two fellas,” Bucky said, gaze dropping to the floral pattern on the sofa.

Silence hung heavily between them for entirely too long. He could hear the faint rustling of cloth after what felt like half an hour, and then the warm pressure of Steve's hand on his chest. "Doesn't really matter about what should happen, huh? Not when we both know, at least..."

Bucky felt the knot tightening in his throat as he stared up at Steve, barely able to even breathe much less speak. He knew that. He was so well aware of the fact that they couldn’t change what this made them.

Soulmates.

He took a shaky breath, finally mirroring Steve and resting a hand along where he knew the matching scar was. “No one else can find out, Stevie. You know that, right? I mean, we could get…” Killed. Jailed. So much could go wrong just because they were destined to be together, because they _weren’t supposed to be together_.

Those soft blue eyes hardened, nails scraping against Bucky’s chest as his hand fisted. “They can’t do a damn thing to us in here, Buck. So long as we’re in here, we’re safe.”

Bucky held back a scoff, well aware that wasn’t true either. The neighbors could call the cops if they even suspected something more than friendly was going on, but all the same. “Yeah, Stevie. We’re safe here.”

They’d have to be. There was no other option for them, when they were already bordering on too close to the outside world. God only knew how careful they’d have to be, but that was the way it was going to have to be.

A small smile curled Steve’s lips as he dropped his hand, shaking Bucky’s off so he could settle in once again to resume drawing. Seemingly trying to ignore the fact that Bucky’d been rendered immobile against him, blankly staring at the delicate looking boy against him because that was just the way they would have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, wow. Thanks so much to the response, guys; it seriously means a lot.  
> This is still unbeta'd, and concrit is warmly welcomed. Hopefully you guys enjoy the ride


	3. Chapter 3

Really, after nine long years of finding Steve’s scars, Bucky was pretty sure he’d gotten used to it. Yeah, he’d still startle a bit every time he glanced in a mirror to see a new one, but he had more or less stopped panicking, especially when he’d actually seen the moment they were earned. Such as when Steve had gotten clocked hard enough to scar his chin.

Needless to say, Bucky’d been damn sure to hit Alex McClellan even harder for his trouble.

For the most part, however, their shared scars were small, unnoticeable unless someone was looking. The surgical scars were the worst, but it wasn’t like anyone saw both of them without their shirts to know that they were there.

This new one, he noted with a sigh, was different.

If it hadn’t been summer, and had Bucky not worked at the docks, he could easily hide the long, clean scar that sliced right along his forearm. As it was, there was no way he was wearing sleeves long enough to cover it during this heat wave from hell.

He managed to leave the apartment early enough to verify with Sarah that, yes, Steve was all right and no, Bucky shouldn’t take off work to look after him.

And he definitely wasn’t supposed to wake Steve up to check for himself.

* * *

“She must be a real troublemaker.”

Bucky glanced up from his work, brows drawn when his gaze found Lee, jerking his chin towards Bucky’s arm.

“Your soulmate?” he prompted with a small grin. “Pretty sure I didn’t see you cut yourself up. You found her already?”

He huffed a laugh to cover his annoyance. Really, just cuz the older man had shown him the ropes here didn’t mean he could be privy to his personal life. Especially when said personal life could actually get him and Stevie jailed.  “Not yet. Guessing it’ll be easier to track her down now, though.” He shrugged nonchalantly, turning back away from Lee just in case any of the higher ups walked by. Like hell he’d be caught slacking on the job and put this at risk. It was hard enough to save up as it was.

Lee hummed noncommittally, settling right down next to him and joining Bucky. “Probably, yeah,” he agreed.

Within minutes, the bell rang to signal the end of the day and Bucky sighed in relief. He could go home now or back to Steve’s place. Probably Steve’s, if he was being honest; he just wanted to be near his punk right now.

After getting everything set aside for the night, and at least cleaning his hands up, he and Lee left the docks, only to run right into the little blond.

Whom had a very conspicuous bandage wrapped all the way around his forearm that was clearly visible beneath the pushed-up shirtsleeves.

Bucky’s blood ran cold, nervously glancing to Lee before plastering on a grin and stepping forward to sling an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “You come down here to pick me up, Stevie?” he teased, steering him away as quickly as he could without attracting additional attention.

He could feel Lee’s narrowed gaze on their backs, and Bucky flashed him another smile. He couldn’t draw attention or act like anything was wrong. Bucky couldn’t act anything less than normal around Steve, because he’d already seen them together before.

Steve’s slim shoulders shrugged beneath his arm. “Figured I couldn’t risk you getting lost. Not with your record of getting distracted; might be days before you turned up again.”

There was a quick eye roll before they turned the corner, and another look back confirmed that Lee couldn’t see them anymore. It was safer.

Bucky sighed, slumping just the slightest bit. They could relax now, if only a little bit. Maybe Bucky would still be on edge until he was alone with Lee again, or a week had passed without incident. It was always possible that the redhead would go right to the police and wouldn’t say anything to his face about it. He stayed mostly silent the whole way back to Steve’s flat, barely responding to his partner’s prompts.

“Ma’s got a long shift tonight. Mind staying over?”

“You doing all right? You look a bit pale, Buck.”

He’d nod, shrug, and maybe offer quick one-word answers every time, and it wasn’t until the door was firmly closed behind him, and the lock was flicked shut that it changed.

“You gotta be more careful, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, eyes trained on the beaten up floors as he toed off his boots. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Steve’s eye right now. “He already noticed I got a new scar there, and if he puts two and two together… I can’t lose you like that.”

“Is that what this is about?” Steve was in his face immediately, fingertips tilting his face up just enough to level a glare at Bucky. “You been short with me the whole way home cuz you thought your coworker had noticed something? Buck, for all he knows this could have been here for days or it could look completely different from the one you got. You’re too deep in your own head about this.”

Bucky aimed a half hearted glare at his sweetheart, leaning into Steve’s hand as if he could glean some comfort just like that. “You know how dangerous it is,” he nearly whispered. “You… You’ve seen what happens to guys like us if the wrong person sees. Soulmates or not, they won’t hesitate to string us up, and leave us to die.”

There was a soft sigh, and Steve guided him forward so their foreheads pressed together. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and he doubted it wouldn’t be the last either. God only knew how much they already had to hide from their own parents, though they suspected Sarah knew anyways. Her looks always lingered too long on the little marks on their chins.

“We’re plenty careful, sweetheart,” Steve murmured. His hand shifted back, curling around the back of Bucky’s neck. “You do so much to look out for us; we’re gonna be all right.”

The words did little to soothe him, but the touches… Bucky melted against them, breath slowing as his eyes started to slip shut. He needed that sometimes. For Steve to ground him, when they were somewhere safe. Behind closed doors and shuttered windows, where so long as they were quiet, they were safe with each other.

Steve’s smile was indulgent as his hand dropped, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips before making space between them once again. “C’mon. I made us dinner and it’s gonna go to waste if we just stand here all night.”

They were silent for the rest of the evening, for the most part. Much like the walk back to their apartment, there were a lot of one word answers, and stilted questions. But it wasn’t uncomfortable as it had been then. There was more casual touching, but without the worried glances to see if anyone was watching. It was much more like their usual routine, where Bucky cleaned up after dinner, and Steve brushed their fingers together on his way into the main room.

At this point, just after Bucky finished drying the last of the dishes, the night would go one of two ways.

Of course, nights where Sarah was home, or when Bucky had to get back, it was different. They’d double check that no one was looking before one would duck down to brush their lips together for the briefest moment before parting.

But nights like this, where it was just the two of them until morning? More often than not, it would end up with the two of them curled up on opposite sides of the couch. Steve would be buried in his sketchbook, cold feet neatly tucked beneath Bucky’s thighs in an attempt to warm them up quickly. In those cases, Bucky would idly page through a worn out copy of a science fiction book he’d picked up on the cheap and read until it fell completely apart. His free hand was usually on the back of Stevie’s neck, trying to rub the tension out without it getting too out of hand, so to speak.

This, though? This wasn’t one of those nights, which was always made evident when Steve asked one question.

“Mind if I draw you, Buck?”

And thank god he never asked until after all the breakables were put away, because there’d been at least one incident, maybe the fifth time it had ever happened cuz god knew he didn’t know it would be a code after the first few times, where the brunette had actually dropped something and they’d had to come up with an excuse when his ma came home.

He glanced over, seeing Steve watching him with a small grin and a ratty old book loosely held in his hand. And he looked so damn smug about it.

Bucky made a show of sighing, rolling his eyes as he dried off his hands. “I guess if you gotta. But you know as good as I do that I don’t sit well for these things. You should find a different muse, Stevie; I might not keep sitting for you.” He quirked his brows, daring Steve to call him out on that horribly blatant lie of his. They both knew how it worked. How Bucky was so shit at refusing anything Steve asked of him.

Which was, of course, how they found themselves in Steve’s bedroom, with Bucky shrugging off his suspenders and unbuttoning his shirt while the tension in the room weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He only paused when he was left in nothing but his undershirt and slacks, not sure just how much his sweetheart wanted him to remove.

“Keep going,” Steve murmured, setting himself up in his chair while keeping bright blue eyes utterly focused on the other man. “Gotta practice the nude form today, so I need all of it off. All right?”

Of course he did. Bucky tried not to scoff at the explanation as he pulled everything off, skin tingeing red at the mild embarrassment of being seen naked.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of how he looked. Not really. It was more like… It was just him. Bared completely to Steve’s eyes, who would no doubt memorialize it. Hide it away from the rest of the world, but years from now, maybe long after they were dead, someone could find Steve’s book and would know. They would know exactly how Steve saw him, every last flaw that existed. And it was unnerving sometimes, to think that far ahead.

The only thing that pulled him away from those thoughts was Steve’s cool hands on his skin, gently easing him to the bed. He blinked a handful of times, letting Steve pose him as he wished. Those oversized hands pressing into his skin, nudging his limbs just so and gingerly letting go, hovering just a moment to make sure Bucky was going to stay still.

It was a pretty valid concern, Bucky understood, knowing just how fidgety he got at the best of times. Sitting still for ten minutes even was a bit of a stretch for him and he was damn sure Steve’s plan would take closer to a half hour at least.

This time, Bucky was almost on his back, face to Steve’s chair with one leg spread obscenely wide with the other thankfully curled in to preserve some sense of modesty. Apparently they were trying something new, since Steve was somehow expecting him to keep that faint arch in his spine without moving the entire time.

“I’ll make it quick,” Steve said, smiling lips caressing Bucky’s temple before curling himself up in the armchair they’d commandeered from the sitting room.

From them on, it was silent except their soft scraping of charcoal against the page, and their softer breathing.

In some ways, it was the silence that made it just that much more unbearable for Bucky. There was nothing to distract him from the ache that started to build in his hips and back from holding perfectly still like that, or from the way he could feel those bright blue eyes searing his skin. The way they traced over his skin, the way his body curved and bent.

If it hadn’t happened so many times, he’d be completely mortified at the way his cock started to swell under the nonexistent pressure of it all. As it was, he could still feel the abhorrent heat of a blush burning his face, down his neck.

And still, Steve did nothing but tut softly, absorbing himself in his work. If it weren’t for the fact that the fair Irish skin Steve was cursed with showed just how taken he actually was with the sight, he’d appear completely unaffected.

In his mind, hours had definitely passed when it probably wasn’t much more than twenty minutes before he finally had to speak up. “Doll,” he started softly, not sure if it was time yet that he could get away with names like that. The sight of sky colored eyes glazing over just a bit was more than enough to reassure him. “Doll, please.”

There wasn’t really a need to specify what he was asking for. They both knew, even though it was slightly multilayered. Sure enough, Steve nodded and set aside the sketchbook before crossing the room to ease Bucky back down. “You did so good for me. Didn’t move even a bit; I’m so proud…”

Bucky didn’t conceal how his eyes rolled, even though the praise made some sort of warmth bloom in his chest.  It fed something in him, and if Steve wasn’t too careful this was going to end faster than either of them wanted it to. And it was definitely ending with Steve’s back against the mattress and trying to keep Bucky quiet so the neighbors suspected absolutely nothing.

“Did it turn out ok?”

That was enough to bring out the return of that smug little grin of Steve’s, and he pulled Bucky’s head into his lap so he could brush through the wavy locks. “Course it did. Had to rush it a bit, but I knew that was gonna happen when I set you up like that.”

Bucky hummed contentedly, eyes closing under Steve’s touch. This was really what he lived for. Just the two of them, locked safely in their own small world, soft and gentle with each other because they both knew damn well the rest of the world wouldn’t treat them like that.

His eyes opened just long enough to catch Steve smiling indulgently down at him, leaning down to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “You gonna be ok for tonight? Not too far out of your head yet? Cuz I really don’t want you panicking on me again.”

Bucky’s nose scrunched up, grimacing at the memory. His thoughts had gotten fuzzy to the point that he didn’t realize he had started crying the second Steve moved away from him until it was too late.

“It wasn’t panic, Stevie. It was nerves and it happens.” As if to prove his point, he reached up to press his palm against the back of Steve’s neck, urging him down to hold him in a kiss.

Thankfully, Steve obliged him and their lips slid easily together as if they had been doing this all their lives, despite the fact that their fumblings really only began on Steve’s fourteenth birthday two years prior.

Several minutes seemed to pass before the damp press of Steve’s mouth drew a soft hum from the back of Bucky’s throat that was answered with a huff of laughter as Steve pulled back, eyes sparkling as he unhooked the brunette’s hand from the base of his skull. “Easy, now,” he mumbled, absently brushing through Bucky’s hair still. Completely ignoring the steadily hardening length between Bucky’s thighs and the fact that Bucky could feel Steve’s body reacting the same way not even inches from his face.

He huffed, clumsily sitting up to put himself at eye level with Steve to nearly glare at him. “Baby, it is literally impossible to go easier than we are. And it ain’t fair if you stop us every time I make even a bit of noise cuz we both know I’m not good at staying silent.”

Steve grinned, cheeky as ever despite the pink cheeks. Those long fingers brushed down the center of Bucky’s chest with the lightest pressure before settling on his hip. “You’re plenty quiet when your mouth’s busy. We could always go that route, even if I was kinda hoping to finally get inside you tonight.”

It was Bucky’s turn to blush, heat flashing across his face and creeping down his neck and chest. Times like this, he really wanted to smack himself for insisting that Steve learn to talk like that because he’d picked it up appallingly fast and it never failed to stop his heart. Especially because he could see that it still embarrassed Steve despite the incessant way he used it when they got into it.

Bucky closed his eyes for a few seconds, gathering some shred of composure before gently pressing Steve back on the mattress. He’d imagined it, of course. What it would feel like to have Steve fuck him.

Two attempts in and they had decided that Steve definitely did not want to be the one bottoming. Didn’t like the way that it made him feel small, and didn’t like not having control. And while the second one could definitely be remedied by a bit of strategic positioning, there was no way to help with the first issue.

But Bucky? He was more than all right with imagining Steve spreading him open. How it would feel to be opened wide while Steve fucked into him. In theory, he was sure it felt amazing. People did it for a reason, after all. It couldn’t be that bad, despite how strange it sounded. How unnatural it sounded.

“You got anything slick?” he asked, voice rough as he looked down at Steve.

It was impossible to miss how blown out those gorgeous blue eyes were, almost completely black at Bucky’s words. With shaky hands, he moved out of Bucky’s grasp and retrieved a tin of Vaseline from the bedside table. And if he nearly dropped it once or twice, at least neither of them said anything about it.

Bucky hesitated once the tin was in his hands, staring blankly at it before realizing that Steve was still completely clothed. That he was completely clothed and they had shared only one proper kiss tonight. And in his daydreams of how this would turn out, this was entirely too rushed for his tastes. They’d traded handjobs and suckjobs with less build up, sure, but this? This was important.

Almost violently, Bucky put the Vaseline down on the bed and nearly yanked Steve into a kiss. Their teeth clanked awkwardly, and Bucky was pretty sure their lips would bruise from this, but he didn’t care.

Steve’s hands found purchase, one on the small of Bucky’s back while the other one curled around the nape of his neck. He melted a bit into it, fingers creeping under Steve’s shirt and taking the time to trace over the flat, bony planes of skin beneath the coarse cotton.

No matter how much Steve hated his own body for being so scrawny and small, that was exactly why Bucky loved it. He loved how there was so much Steve in this small package, and how his hand could span the space between Steve’s hipbones despite the fact that Steve would probably shove him for trying. It was gorgeous, in his mind.

“Wanna see you,” Bucky whispered in the brief space between their lips between kisses. Feeling rather than seeing the shudder that ran through his lover. His callused palm caught over Steve’s ribs, rucking up his shirt in the process. “Please, sweetheart. Wanna see you…”

Steve huffed off a laugh, even if it tripped into a breathy moan halfway through. “Needy as ever,” he teased, leaning up to brush their mouths together in a hint of a kiss. “Go ahead, Buck.”

Bucky grinned, tension leaking out as he settled properly across Steve’s lap, hissing softly at the pressure of Steve’s cock against his own. Steady hands opened up the buttons on his shirt, tugging Steve up to reverently slide it off his shoulders. His breath hitched, pressing a hand on the shared scar right down the center of Steve’s chest.

Steve leaned back on his elbows, somberly looking up at Bucky with only a hint of a smile before Bucky bent down to press kisses just below Steve’s jaw. Feeling his pulse jump.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Bucky said, nuzzling against his neck. His free hand thumbed at the hollow of Steve’s hip as he barely rocked against him. Even though the harsh texture of Steve’s trousers was maybe too much on the sensitive skin. “Gonna be so good to you, promise.”

The hand on the back of Bucky’s neck tightened, a clear call for Bucky to lay off, if only a bit. “Stop talking sweet,” he ordered as soon as Bucky leaned away, sitting back on his heels. “I know, Bucky. You don’t gotta keep telling me, all right?”

Bucky grimaced, hating it when Steve got like that. It wasn’t like he was trying to say anything new… Just wanted to remind him that. Still, not much could be done about it, and he ended up awkwardly shuffling off of Steve so he could settle between his legs, popping the button and dragging off the last of Steve’s clothes and tossing them off the bed as if they personally offended them.

And god, just staring at Steve… The spindly limbs, the sheer delicateness that was at such odds with his personality. He just wanted to suck marks into the soft skin of his thighs, and nestle comfortably against his hip. Of course, that wasn’t the goal of tonight, and he damn well knew that once Steve got his mind set on something, that was how it was going to go.

Instead, Bucky hurriedly mouthed at the sharp hipbone for barely a moment before shifting up to straddle Steve’s waist, reaching for the tin once again.

The red of Steve’s skin was starkly visible, even in the lowering light of the room as the sun crept below the horizon. Soon enough, they’d be completely in the dark and Bucky both needed and dreaded it. “Do you want me to…?” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

Bucky shrugged, opening the tin and dipping his fingers in it. “I’ve done it once or twice. I don’t mind.” Still, he frowned a bit at the paste, rubbing it on his first three fingers. All right, he’d done this exactly once, and he’d gotten a bit scared and had stopped after less than five minutes. But that wasn’t important right now.

Steve nodded, hands finding Bucky’s hips to hold him steady as he balanced on his knees above the smaller teen. It was a little precarious, and Bucky’s free hand found purchase on Steve’s sternum to steady himself. He leaned down once more, kissing Steve again before setting to work, pressing a finger against his own entrance as his eyes slipped shut.

It was still just as weird as it had been when he tried on his own, and Bucky grimaced at the strange sensation of the tight heat around his index contrasting with the stretch that he didn’t usually equate with pleasure on his own hands. Maybe when Steve would press against the tight furl of muscle, it felt good, but it wasn’t his hands this time.

He heard Steve’s breath catch, and Bucky squeezed his eyes even tighter, feeling around inside himself, trying to loosen up. The way he figured, Bucky was going to need two or three before he could take Steve’s dick, but that was really just a rough estimation. Not for the first time, he wished that Steve was a little more proportional, instead of having larger hands and a larger cock to go with them. It would be so much easier, he thought, if Steve would grow into them or if they would just match up.

It took several minutes before the intrusion became comfortable, and Bucky sighed, hips rocking back on his own hand to get used to the feeling. The angle was wrong, and he couldn’t get very deep, but there was something about it that had heat coiling inside him. The idea of what this was a prelude to, and the firm hold Steve had on him was enough to turn the vague discomfort into a slow burning need settled at the base of his spine.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, caressing his name like it was precious. Just like his hands caressed up Bucky’s waist.

His eyes fluttered, peeking down at Steve as he managed to nudge a second finger in as well. It was getting harder to hear the soft moans and harsher breathing from Steve as he just watched. Bucky’s pulse was almost too loud to hear anything else.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, right hand slipping down to press just above Bucky’s cock, which decided now was a great time to pearl up with precum.

The next inhale had the barest tinge of a whine as Bucky rocked down on his fingers, still fighting to stretch the muscle. He managed to open is eyes properly, focusing on nothing but Steve between his legs.

Pretty Stevie, with his golden hair a sweat dampened mess on the sheets. With his bright blue eyes lust-blown and pink swollen lips parted.

Pretty Stevie who was pushing himself up to press those lips just where his palm had previously rested, not even an inch above Bucky’s cock. “Wanna open you up next time.”

And god, if that didn’t draw a sharp moan that he tried and failed to muffle. “Babydoll, don’t go talking like that now,” he breathed. “You’re gonna make this end a lot sooner than either of us want.”

He caught the grin on Steve’s lips before he repeated the kiss and sinking back against the mattress. “But maybe I wanna see it end like this,” he countered. “Didn’t think you were gonna look so desperate; maybe I wanna watch you fall apart just like this.”

The burning arousal spiked sharply, just listening to Steve. He swallowed thickly, eyes squeezing shut as his head fell forward. But fuck if he wasn’t getting too close to the edge, despite the weird angle and the fact that Steve hadn’t even properly touched him yet. “Then go ahead and make it happen. You wanna make me cum? Go ahead.”

Maybe it was a bluff. Maybe Bucky was waiting for Steve to tell him no, to keep going and keep prepping himself so that they could actually fuck this time. Hell, that was really what he expected, what with Steve’s single-mindedness.

So his eyes shot open and he choked on a breath when he felt Steve’s hand cover his own, pressing Bucky’s fingers deeper while his other hand curled around his cock.

Steve’s brows were pinched, mouth set firmly as he set to the task of jerking him off, wrist twisting on the upstroke and taking time to palm the head with every pass.

He always looked so serious during this, Bucky thought distantly while he mindlessly rutted against Steve’s hand and grinded against his own in turn. His hand curled into a fist on that thin chest as he bit hard on his own lip, not really sure if he could focus on a damn thing if Steve ordered him to. His own mother could walk in, and Bucky wasn’t actually sure if he would notice now.

His focus really narrowed down into Steve’s hands, and the whispered praises between them. The pretty words Steve generally wouldn’t accept were leaving Bucky’s lips without a thought, just a constant babble of please Steve, more Steve, I need you, I always need you, so good to me, please.

And regardless of the fact that he could barely hear Steve’s answering words over his own heartbeat, Bucky was at least aware of their existence. Just like always, with them.

Time lost meaning, and it wasn’t long before Bucky was stuttering out a warning, barely able to get halfway through before he spilled over Steve’s hand with a hoarse moan. He could feel Steve shaking beneath him, taking his hand off Bucky’s cock before moving it to his own, though the one near his ass stayed firmly in place. Keeping him stretched around his fingers even as he came down.

Bucky trembled with the aftershocks, slumped down across Steve’s chest as he buried his face in Steve’s neck and listened to the slick sound of skin on skin before the small frame tensed up before going limp with a harsh breath and a curse. Only then did Steve completely wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist, easing him the rest of the way down despite the cooling mess smearing between them. Finally, Bucky could remove his fingers, almost wincing at how empty he suddenly felt without anything inside him.

Maybe he whined a bit, because he was vaguely aware that Steve had resumed stroking his hair, adjusting the so that Bucky was almost curled up against Steve despite the significant height difference. “That’s it, sweetheart, just breathe for me. I got you.”

Bucky grimaced a bit, but just nestled closer, curling his arms around Steve’s shoulders and pressing kisses to his clavicle. He was all right, really. Shaky, of course, but that was more or less normal for him when they did this. But if Steve wanted to whisper praise and reassurances…

Well, Bucky sure as hell wouldn’t stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, two quick things. First off, so sorry for the delay. My hard drive got completely fried. Thankfully, we should be back to regular updates again. Second off, tags have updated, so please check those real quick? Nothing too major has been changed.  
> This work is still unbeta'd, any mistakes are my own and concrit is greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, eight years had ticked by for the two of them. Eight years of the pair of them acting like nothing but friends in public, but spending nights behind closed doors tangled up in each other’s blankets, as well as each other. It was hard, and there had been more near misses than Bucky felt comfortable with, but no one, not even Lee from the docks, had accused either of them of anything that wasn’t easily and convincingly dismissed by the end of the conversation.

And it was good, really. As good as it could be, and Bucky had managed to convince himself that everything would be all right. They would get through this alive, and unharmed.

But just when things were looking like nothing would go wrong, Sarah Rogers had passed.

It had been sudden; despite the amount of time Bucky had spent over at their apartment, he hadn’t seen the signs, and Sarah had always dismissed her tiredness on long shifts at the hospital. Maybe the two of them should have known better. But maybe they also thought she would share her son’s grudging acceptance of her illnesses.

There were a handful of months, right towards the end, when Sarah had finally been admitted for tuberculosis. And right before she had left them for good, she had pulled each of the boys aside, one by one, to talk to them. And while Steve hadn’t repeated the words he had gotten, Bucky would never forget Sarah’s parting order.

“Look after him for me. Keep him safe.”

Bucky moved in the day after the funeral. In retrospect, he should have maybe stayed home a bit longer, since Rebecca had just moved away months prior after finding her soulmate.

And their mother was more or less horrified to discover her fears were well founded, in her mind, in the fact that Rebecca’s husband was seventeen years her senior.

But really, what else could he do? It wasn’t long after that Steve had started getting into more fights than ever, and once that had passed he would just… Sit there. Staring blankly at the walls and just looking so lost. And while it was better than Bucky having to bandage up those delicate fingers every night, it almost broke his heart more.

Winifred had understood, really. She was upset that both of her children had moved out within months of each other, but they both had good reasons. Reasons that she could understand, even if she would comment about how much she missed them any time they visited.

But what was he supposed to do? Steve just seemed so forlorn all the time, hopeless since the funeral, and he couldn’t just ignore that. He needed now, more than ever, to stay close.

It took months before Steve started looking better. Started acting better, even if it was only by bits and pieces. Six months after, and Steve started cooking dinner for them again. Nine months found them settling into a routine similar to the one they had when they were still teenagers, curling up together on the worn out couch most nights except now they actually shared a bed almost constantly without worrying someone would come in.

Finally, a little over a year later, and they’d settled into a new sense of normalcy for them. They both struggled, sure, but things had gotten easier. Bucky didn’t worry what he would come home to after a long day at the docks, and their bills were paid more often than not. Heating was iffy, but they managed to get it paid for during the worst of the winter months, if nothing else.

Of course, all that had gone to ruin the second Pearl Harbor happened. It hit the papers, and both of them stared in absolute horror at each other as they tried to wrap their heads around what it would mean for them.

“You know we’re gonna have to go to war now,” Steve had said, tone hushed as he set the newspaper aside. “We’re gonna have to join up with the army now.”

Bucky had vehemently refused. Kept saying everything was going to be fine and that they wouldn’t have to fight. That they could maybe get out of it.

Only to learn too late that was exactly the wrong thing to say. It only figured that his punk, his sweetheart, the one that was so eager to prove himself, would be excited by the opportunity to actually make, in his opinion, a difference.

And maybe it was selfish, but Bucky was damn sure that he would forever be grateful that Steve was labeled as 4F. His lover would be safe, even if Bucky was accepted and was sent to fight, sent to die. He just prayed to god his number never came up, and he wasn’t picked for the draft.

Of course, they couldn’t even catch that break. Bucky stared numbly when it happened, when he was told he was going to war.

It wasn’t fair. Steve had just lost his ma not even two years ago, and now this? Bucky was gonna have to leave him alone too?

He’d kept quiet, waiting for the right time to tell Steve that he was going to have to leave. And he didn’t realize that he was too late for that too until he woke up to find a scar through his eyebrow. Until he woke up late in an empty bed, with Steve nowhere in sight.

He’d gone to work, not paying attention to Lee or his jabs again about how his sweetheart must be a fighter for sure. But Steve wasn’t there to walk him home this time. Hell, it wasn’t until nearly ten that the guy stumbled into their apartment, bandage over his eye and looking like he’d gone ten rounds with someone who wasn’t as easy with him as Bucky was.

“Jesus Christ, Stevie,” he nearly whispered, jolting up from his chair, automatically reaching out to touch the mess that was his face.

Steve glared at him, easily sidestepping Bucky with a not-too-gentle knock of their shoulders. “’m fine, Buck. Leave it be.”

And really, it was hard for Bucky not to glare right back at him. Hard not to return what was given to him, but like hell that was going to happen. “It ain’t fine. You look like you got into another fight and didn’t even try to dodge the punches this time. And now you come home and just…” Bucky forced himself to stop, closing his eyes with a sharp breath. That wasn’t going to help. He needed to keep at least somewhat calm because if they were both mad, it was just gonna end with one of them walking out. “I was worried, Stevie. Haven’t seen you all day, and… And I knew you’d gotten yourself hurt. I was scared.”

He could still feel the tension and the frustration thrumming through the room. The latter mostly emanated from Steve though Bucky knew he was adding to it just a bit. Visibly, at least, he could see the blonde’s shoulders slacken just a bit as his head bowed. Even if it was just a little bit, Bucky would take what he got.

“You didn’t tell me you’d signed up. Thought I’d have a little more time before you left for the war.”

Bucky froze up, pretty damn sure his heart just climbed into his throat. He hadn’t… “My orders came in?” His voice was more strangled than it should be, but right now he didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t expecting… That was so soon; he wasn’t even drafted a month ago!

Steve’s hard blue eyes flicked up to him, barely softened by the building tears. There was just enough accusation there to tighten up the knot in his throat and shove his heart further down into his stomach. He couldn’t tell Steve that he’d been drafted. Not when the man was so eager to go fight himself. Bucky couldn’t let him think he was a coward.

With a soft sigh, Bucky curled an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest. “I’m sorry, baby-doll… I didn’t know how to tell you.” It was true enough, he supposed. It was true enough and maybe Stevie would think better of him like this.

There was a halfhearted push, but the second Bucky tried to move back Steve’s hand ended up tightly wound in the back of Bucky’s shirt. “You’re gonna leave me…” he whispered. “You’re gonna leave me here all by myself, and I’m not gonna know what happens to you.”

Bucky automatically shushed him, curling a hand around the back of Steve’s neck to hold him close as Steve would let him. “You know I’m gonna write you while I’m gone. And I won’t be gone long, I’m sure of it.”

They didn’t bother with dinner that night. Instead, they waited out the night quietly, on the bed they shared with Steve wrapped securely in Bucky’s arm as if they could somehow make time stop if they just held on tight enough.

“I’ll come back to you,” Bucky promised over and over again. Whispered it into Steve’s hair, murmured it against the skin of his neck.

Sometimes, Bucky wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to reassure. Because with two weeks before he left, there wasn’t much time for them to do much of anything. There was so little time, but at least for tonight, they were going to block it all out.

And if Steve passed on his mother’s ring for Bucky to hold onto until the war was over? No one had to know what it meant but the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got a bit of a shorter chapter this time, and I can't for the life of me tell you why it still took me this long to get out to you. Many apologies, as well as thanks for all the support I've been getting from you guys. Concrit is still welcome and well-appreciated.  
> Still unbeta'd, mistakes are still mine.


	5. Chapter 5

Not for the first time, Bucky startled awake at the smallest crack of a twig outside his tent. Maybe before he had left Brooklyn, he could have slept through anything, but now? He’d seen people die because they didn’t scramble up fast enough, and couldn’t get to cover in time. It didn’t make rest easy.

It had been close to six months since he officially left for war. Six months since he had seen Stevie, taken him out with a pair of gals that the blond hadn’t liked, and since Steve had officially told him goodbye. Promised it wasn’t for good, but they both knew that neither one of them could guarantee that. They knew the mortality rates. The odds of Bucky coming home weren’t as good as they pretended they were.

Of course Bucky would write back to him when he could. He’d sworn up and down, every day before he left for training and then every day before he shipped out. Maybe he’d only gotten something back to Steve twice since crossing the Atlantic, and he never even heard back from his soulmate, but it was the best he could do, given the circumstances.

They had orders to move again today, getting just a bit deeper into enemy territory and part of Bucky expected the worst today. Maybe it was because he’d woken up so abruptly. Maybe it was nothing.

Thankfully, nothing new had shown up since Bucky had been gone. No new scars showed up across his hands, or on his face. He had counted that as a blessing, hoping that meant Steve was staying out of trouble for once in his life.

It wasn’t until he’d started dressing for the day that he saw how wrong everything was.

The mark down the center of his chest, the one that Steve had pressed so many kisses against, and the one that had first proven who they were to each other was gone.

He dropped the shirt he had been holding, automatically reaching to touch where the other surgical scar had been before checking the rest.

The one across his forearm, the ones scattered along his knuckles, his palms, defensive scars that had littered his skin… The ones from both of Steve’s surgeries. They were all gone. The only scars left were the ones he had earned himself, and they were few and far between.

Not for the first time since he had arrived, Bucky was damn sure he was going to be sick. He’d never heard of this happening. There were rumors that maybe when your soulmate died they would go away, except Sarah had said multiple times that it didn’t happen like that. Broken the news to many mourning people that it was just an old wives tale before apologizing for their loss.

But what else was he supposed to think? Everything that marked him as Steve’s was officially gone, and Bucky couldn’t fathom what that meant.

It was hard to breathe. Each gasp was a struggle, and Bucky couldn’t hear a damn thing over the pulse pounding in his ears.

The scars were gone. And while he couldn’t check to see if the ones marking his chin and brow were gone, it seemed painfully unlikely that they would still be there. The poor guy sharing his tent must’ve been terribly confused, and that was something Bucky would only realize in retrospect.

Only after he hurriedly penned a note to Steve, scrambled to get dressed and passed the letter on to be sent did he understand that everyone in the 107th was keeping distant from him, watching him warily. He was just going to be grateful that no one stopped to ask him if he was all right, because there was a very real possibility that would be the thing that would finally bring Bucky to tears.

And maybe just when he thought the day couldn’t get any worse, his unit was captured by the Germans.

* * *

 

After a while, Bucky couldn’t tell how much time had passed. It was always dark where he was held, even more so after they had pulled him away from the rest of the prisoners. There was no way to mark the days, and no one spoke to him once they had taken him away.

They only talked about him. Even through the language barrier, that much was obvious.

Strapped to a table, constantly being injected with things that Bucky couldn’t see, everything started to slip away. He’d still hear the German tittering, the clomping of heavy boots over concrete floors, and as time got on Bucky swore he could occasionally hear the prisoners who’d been set to work on the other side of the camp, but none of it really clicked with him anymore.

More often than not, when he was blessedly left alone, his mind wandered back to Steve. He wondered if the blond was still alive, and if he was now the one who was suddenly getting new marks all the time. Wondered if he was safe, and at least surviving on his own.

There were times that he swore he could even see the blond, but that always faded away with a few blinks, and the features would morph back into whoever was guarding him.

It was another one of those times, Bucky thought. The room was empty, and Bucky was staring blankly up at the ceiling and he was absolutely sure he heard Steve’s voice. Except he couldn’t tell if it was lower than his memory insisted, or if it had really been too long. Footsteps were running in his direction and it unbelievable that he could even hear that with all of the ruckus outside. The gunfire, the screaming in multiple languages. Everyone was running, but he could still somehow tell that someone was coming his way.

He only turned his head when someone was in the doorway, and if Bucky didn’t know better… But there was no way. Steve was barely five foot four, and the blond across the room was easily broader than Bucky was. And he supposed there really was a first time for everything, because every time he imagined Stevie in the room, he looked exactly as he’d left him back in New York.

“Bucky,” the man breathed, dashing across the room. Only to start tearing at the heavy leather that kept him in place the second he was towering over him. “I thought you were dead.”

His heart stopped, and for the first time since receiving his orders, it was a good thing. That was Steve’s voice. His Steve. He swallowed thickly, trying to wet his lips before speaking even as Steve eased him upright. “Thought you were smaller.”

Steve laughed breathlessly, leaning closer to press their foreheads together. “I was so scared, Buck,” he whispered before stealing the most chaste kiss possible and tugging Bucky to his feet.

And then they were running. And then there was a man pulling his face off; and fuck if Bucky could even process anything at this point. He was pretty sure he made some sort of wisecrack about it, though.

It wasn’t until all the living prisoners were walking out of camp that things started to set in for Bucky again. And it was days worth of walking before he and Steve even got into any sort of time to themselves so that they could actually talk for the first time.

Only after they made it back to an Allied camp, where a gorgeous brunette chastised Steve for being late, and where Steve had his own quarters because he was a fucking Captain somehow.

Captain America, apparently. The one who’d been running around doing shows, and oh my god Steve let himself get experimented on.

After getting cleared by medical somehow, Bucky found himself being steered into Steve’s bunk, once again falling into the habit of watching everyone to see if they noticed. And they did, but no one seemed to look too long, which Bucky would be grateful for.

“What happened?” Bucky asked once Steve closed the two of them off from the rest of the camp. “You… I left, and you barely came to my shoulder. And all the sudden you turn up and can literally throw me around if you wanted to.”

Steve fell motionless, shoulders lifted defensively like he had always done. “There was a doctor,” he said softly, slowly turning to actually face Bucky. “I was chosen for a super soldier program and… They gave me medicine. Shot up almost an entire foot in a matter of minutes.” He took a shuddering breath, lurching forward. “And I got here, and they told me you were captured, and I… I didn’t know what else to do, Buck. I had to come get you.”

Christ, the look in Steve’s eyes… It was just like after Sarah had died. Like after Bucky’s orders came in. He just looked so lost, and he was looking to Bucky to ground him again. Just like always.

He moved slowly, making sure Steve saw him close the space between them. Made sure he knew beforehand that Bucky was going to curl his arms around Steve’s waist and rest his forehead on a ridiculously broad shoulder. “Your scars are gone,” he said softly. “I don’t got them anymore, Stevie. I thought you’d… I don’t even know what I thought.”

Steve took a slow breath, seeming to wrap Bucky up in his arms without even thinking about it and gently maneuvering him to fit right under his chin. “That serum got rid of all of them but yours. Got rid of everything, it seems like.”

So that was why… Bucky nearly went limp in Steve’s arms. Honestly it had been the week from hell at this point, and any more revelations would threaten to have Bucky just completely snap. Everything was just so different now. Steve could literally hold Bucky up if he wanted to now, and Bucky was pretty damn sure his days of carrying Steve to bed were over, even if that had been allowed maybe twice in his life.

Steve’s hand, which thankfully felt about the same size as before, brushed down his spine in slow strokes over and over again while the arm braced across Bucky’s shoulder held him firmly against Steve’s chest.

For the first time in probably five years, Bucky’s hands were shaky as they crept beneath Steve’s clothes. Unsure of what exactly he would even find if he took them off.

He could feel the sudden tension in the blond, but only took it as a sign to still instead of pull back.

“Buck, we ain’t gotta do anything,” he murmured, continuing to trail down his back. “I just got you back; we don’t need to…”

“I know.” Bucky grimaced, swallowing as if that would help with the hoarseness of his voice. He huffed, pressing his palms just above Steve’s hips. The only thing that automatically felt like his baby was the softness of his skin. Yes, Steve’s face was the same, and his voice and his hands. But it was really throwing Bucky off how everything else was different. He pulled away just enough to look up at Steve—and wasn’t that disconcerting—with his lips set in a firm line. “I wanna see.”

And Bucky was damn pleased to see that Steve still blushed exactly the same: bright pink and across his entire face. Probably still further down, but he’d have to get Steve out of his uniform to be sure.

“Still running your mouth, I see.” Steve leaned down, pressing his lips against Bucky’s temple. “Go ahead, then.”

Maybe it was the familiar words of permission, but Bucky felt so much calmer now than he had since arriving in Europe. It was something reassuring, something Steve had always said, and he needed that. That hint of home, even if they were in the middle of an army camp where anyone could potentially find out. And out here, there was a lot more at stake.

Bucky’s hands were much steadier now, gently smoothing his hands beneath Steve’s jacket until it slid off into a crumpled heap. “Can’t believe they put you in tights,” he muttered.

He could almost feel the near-pout that was surely on Steve’s lips from the comment, but he didn’t look up to check. “Just pull it off, Buck. Put me out of my misery.”

Bucky nodded slowly, hands once again teasing beneath the hem of the shirt that they put him in, but ended up steering Steve to the excuse of a bed that they would probably end up sharing while they were here. So long as no one noticed and got suspicious.

Steve looked vaguely dazed already, looking down at Bucky and not even bothering to hide the adoration in those bright blue eyes. And his cheeks were still that soft pink that Bucky more or less fell in love with when they were younger.

It took no effort to convince Steve to sit down on the edge of the cot, only realizing belatedly that it would be just the slightest bit more difficult to undress him that way. Still, Bucky leaned down, tugging his shirt off before the material ended up dropped between their feet.

 “Buck,” Steve started, and Bucky realized with a shock how well that deep voice finally fit him.

Steve’s hands fit around Bucky’s hips, gently tugging him forward. Fitting there just like they used to and he melted just a bit at the familiarity.

Even though he knew that he’d been seeing perfectly smooth skin, it was still a shock. Steve had always been nothing but bones, with gnarled scars across his chest, but now?

It shook him up a little bit, but there was still no denying who this was to Bucky, and he barely thought before bringing their lips together, almost too sweet to bear. Steve was gentle, maybe more than he had before even as his fingers tightened to press into the small of his back. There was still the overwhelming softness of Steve’s lips moving against his.

So maybe it was Bucky who pushed for more this time. After over a decade of waiting for Steve, for insisting that he made the first move, Bucky finally pressed closer, curling his hands in that soft blond hair and demanded for just a little bit more. Before Steve managed to completely shatter him with how gentle he was.

And really, Steve gave beautifully. Bucky was nearly pulled into Steve’s lap, just as ungraceful as it was back in their Brooklyn apartment, and the hint of teeth was just enough for the walls he kept up for the world outside to crumble.

Those strong hands Bucky had always known nearly tore the green sweater Bucky wore, that had only barely survived Zola’s experiments, in the haste to pull it off and his belt suffered the same near-destruction before it clattered to the ground barely seconds after Bucky nearly lost the other article of clothing.

They both fought for breath, pulling apart just enough to marvel at each other and the abrupt fervor broke only long enough for Steve’s fingertips to trace over one of the few scars that they still shared. It was small, really, a neat little slice along his side from being on the wrong side of a fight that Steve had really started but Bucky managed to talk their way out of trouble for.

“I love you,” Steve murmured, managing to kiss the inch of raised skin despite how awkward it was to reach. “I didn’t think I’d find you, Buck. You gotta… You gotta be more careful.”

Bucky’s brows lifted, looking at him incredulously. Really, Steve was the one telling him to be careful? Not to mention the fact that they were both more naked than clothed on a shitty excuse for a bed in an army camp and Bucky was more or less nestled between Steve’s legs so he could fucking tell how turned on the guy was.

“That’s some talk, sweetheart. Some big talk from Steven ‘can’t back down from a fight’ Rogers.” Still, he sighed softly and leaned down just enough to kiss Steve’s neck, just above his pulse. “I’ll be careful. One of us has gotta be.”

Of course Steve would grin at that, still just as wide and boyish as ever before gently leading Bucky in for another kiss.

Things seemed to rush by after that, and it wasn’t long before all their clothes had been divested and Steve was once again holding him steady. Granted, it was a lot different than how they usually did things.

Back home, back when Steve was smaller, it was always Bucky hovering above him, hands on that bony chest on either side of their scar while he fucked himself down on Steve’s cock while those oversized hands held his hips to keep him balanced.

Now, though? Now it was Bucky with his back on the mattress that was probably too small for the two of them. Now it was Steve’s hand beneath his ass, tilting just enough so that it was easier to open Bucky up and keep him at least mostly still.

Quiet was another matter all together. Bucky was pretty sure he was gonna bite right through his lip by the time this was over, since his hands were a little busy being tangled up in Steve’s hair instead of being used to muffle himself.

“So pretty like that,” Steve murmured, blushing even now.

God, but of course he’d still be bright red, acting shy even while he hovered over Bucky, two fingers pressed firmly inside him. Only Steve would still get flustered over talking like that, even after nearly a decade of doing so.

“You’re one to talk about being pretty.” And Christ, if Bucky could, he’d cringe over how broken up he sounded. Except he was really too busy struggling to press back against Steve’s fingers even as the man held him still.

Steve tutted, his wrist twisting just enough to send another round of sparks through Bucky that had him stifling a keening moan while his back arched nearly off the mattress. “You gotta hush, Bucky. Can barely understand a word you’re saying, and we can’t really be making much noise in here, can we?”

Bucky tried to glare at him, tugging at the blond strands between his fingers out of spite and relishing the quiet shudder it earned him from Steve. At least it got him to hurry up, finally easing a third finger inside that caused Bucky to choke on his own breath.

It had been too long. Too long since he’d been stretched out with anything, and Bucky felt the outside world slipping away so fast because of it. The only thing that mattered was Steve, anchoring him, pulling him apart, burning him from the inside.

“Need you,” he whispered, forcing himself back on Steve’s hand despite how it hurt just enough to remind him this was real. “Stevie, please, you gotta…”

Steve’s lips pushed against his, barely an answer but enough that Bucky’s entire being went lax with the only thing going through his mind being to kiss Steve back, to keep him close. Everything else was automatic, hooking his leg over Steve’s hip and grinding up just to get a bit of relief. Nipping at Steve’s bottom lip to hear the soft whine get stifled between them.

“Need you,” Bucky repeated in the bare inch separating them.

Thankfully, Steve nodded this time, darkened eyes focused entirely on Bucky’s face while his fingers slid out.

He hissed at the emptiness, and nearly whimpered in protest when Steve moved away to retrieve the tin of Vaseline he’d practically thrown to the side earlier. Fine, it was for the greater good, but it left Bucky cold and gave him enough room for his worries to grow until Steve was once again over him, kissing it all away.

“I got you, sweetheart. End of the line, all right? I promise you that.” Steve’s hands framed his face, brushing kiss after kiss between his words.

And maybe it was that easy, sometimes. To just let Steve take care of him, and to just hold on for the ride. To let Steve do the worrying for them.

So he let Steve move him, and let himself straddle Steve’s lap and didn’t think while he slid himself down on Steve’s cock, which was still somehow slightly bigger than it should be, considering his frame. Maybe it always had been that way, but some small voice in the back of Bucky’s mind wondered if that grew like the rest of him. Either way, it felt like he was splitting himself in half in a way that really just made every nerve ending sing with want.

He buried his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, gasping for breath around the sheer girth inside him and waited for the feeling to settle. Until it felt better than just the rampant lust and more like it was part of him, like Steve belonged perfectly inside him.

It felt like time had stopped around them, and only the racing of their hearts marked that everything was still happening. Signaled there was still a clock ticking somewhere, and even this late, time was still going on.

Only after Bucky lifted his head and nodded did things move again. Even if Steve was tentative to take more control than usual and thrust into Bucky rather than just let him do all the work alone.

They were rougher that night. Bucky’s bones protested against the hard pace the two of them set, but all he could bring himself to do was hold tighter, let his teeth dig into Steve’s lip, and push himself harder against the body below him, meeting each thrust and pressing close enough that there was no space between.

God, but he was still reeling from it all. The new body below him was still so unfamiliar, and with the hard lines of muscles wrapped around in this startlingly tall frame? It was nothing like the Steve he used to ride until he was nearly in tears.

But the muffled groan that Stevie pressed into his neck? That was his sweetheart, and all Bucky could do was tremble and drag his trembling hands down Steve’s expansive back. Maybe let his nails dig in just the slightest bit to urge him on.

It really was still Steve, beneath it all. Still murmuring soft praise no matter how breathless it was, and how stifled the words were against Bucky’s skin. Repeating how perfect Bucky was, how good he took it, just a little harder, how gorgeous he looked like that and how he’d look so much better once he was sated so he’d better hurry up.

And it was still Steve whose hand fit so nicely around Bucky’s cock and let the brunette fuck up into it before fucking back down onto Steve.

His mind was hazy, so far gone that his answering words were short, broken up between soft cries that nearly sounded like tears as his blood burned in his veins and it didn’t seem like even a minute passed before he was cumming all over Steve’s hand. The only thing that kept him from wailing his name was the hand Bucky shoved over his own mouth.

Steve had sped up after that, hips smacking against Bucky’s ass in a disjointed rhythm that would probably leave bruises and shocked the oversensitive nerves until Steve finally spilled inside him. Whispering Bucky’s name like it was a goddamned prayer and refusing to let him move even an inch.

Not that Bucky really wanted to, since he’d pretty much draped himself over Steve’s chest as he fought to slow his heart. He felt completely boneless, a little strung out off pleasure with his thoughts so far away that he could barely hear them.

When things came back into focus, they had moved. Bucky was safely curled up in Steve’s arms, their legs tangled up in a mess. Just like they always were.

“You back with me?” Steve asked, soft and hoarse as if he’d actually been screaming while they were joined instead of biting them all back.

There was a moment’s hesitation before he nodded and nestled closer to Steve’s chest. “Felt real good, doll.”

He felt rather than heard Steve’s laugh before the blond kissed the top of his head. “I could tell. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you that blissed out in my entire life, and I woulda been offended if not for the fact that you wouldn’t let go of me for long enough to even move you properly.”

Bucky huffed, gently setting his teeth on Steve’s shoulder before dropping back on the bed. “Offended by what? Ain’t like I was getting fucked by someone else, y’know. Still you, just…” He trailed off, frowning a bit. It wasn’t like he could say it was a different body.

Well. It was obviously a very different body than the one that Steve had before. And it scared him to death sometimes that there was no wheezing in Steve’s breath, but there was always so much of Steve, before. He always had too much heart, too much of himself, that the small frame seemed to struggle under the weight of it all.

“Just in a body that finally fits all of you,” he finished, hiding a dazed smile against Steve’s skin. Still as pale as ever, and still showed every hint of a blush.

Still his skin. His hands, his voice, all the little mannerisms that Steve never learned to hide away.

He was still Bucky’s sweetheart, just finally in a frame that could hold all of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god second to last chapter. So, I'm figuring out that writing smut takes me longer than anything else, so we can probably expect the next chapter out in just a few days?  
> As always, thanks to everyone for reading and supporting this, and concrit is always very welcome.  
> This is still unbeta'd, any mistakes are my own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I lied. Last chapter. I'm so sorry in advance, and I updated tags for the last time, so please take care to note that before reading on.  
> I just want to say that I had a wonderful time writing this, and I'm sorry in advance? Please don't hate me?  
> Thank you to everyone for supporting my first fic in this fandom, and on this site in general. As well as my first posted smut, I guess?  
> This is still unbeta'd, concrit is welcome and the mistakes here are my own.
> 
> *EDIT*  
> I've gotten a lot of people asking for a sequel, so I figured I should just address that here. I am planning on writing at the very least a oneshot to work as an epilogue for these two, but it's going to be posted separate from this work. With any luck, it should be out within a week.

Steve never asked for this.

He had made a point in his life to regret as little as absolutely possible, and as far as he was concerned? He’d just about succeeded in that endeavor.

He’d thrown caution to the wind as much as he could, always trusting Bucky to catch him no matter what. He’d run headlong into their relationship, stealing as many kisses as he possibly could when no one was looking. When Bucky got his orders, he fought tooth and nail until they finally accepted him into the army, and when Bucky was the one who needed rescuing?

Well, if Bucky found out that his helmet and shield were props back then, Steve was damn sure Bucky would’ve cussed him out about it until their end of the line.

Maybe, though. Maybe he should have been more careful. Should have thought their last plan together out just a little bit more. Because if he had just listened, then maybe he would never have had to learn what those bright grey eyes looked like when Bucky was paralyzed with fear. Never have had to hear his voice break around Steve’s name as he fell.

It completely shattered him. The rest of the Howlies tried to stay close to him in the wake of Bucky’s falling, but it wasn’t the same. Maybe they never knew what the two of them really meant to each other. Maybe they did and had enough tact to stay quiet about it. Steve never really knew.

In the weeks that followed, Steve’s hand was always by his side. On his left, just over one of three scars that Bucky had left him, because fuck if they had anything else of each other.

They didn’t even find his body. Steve couldn’t even hold onto Bucky’s tags, and the only consolation was that he knew what Bucky had fallen with. His mother’s ring in a hidden pocket. The one Steve had given him with a promise of ‘after the war’.

Steve didn’t even last a month, really. Not even a month before he had the opportunity not only to do the right thing, but to take himself out of the picture at the same time. He’d promised he’d get out, but it wasn’t like Steve had any intention of leaving the Arctic Ocean. Peggy knew too, tears breaking her voice as she dictated where he was going to take her dancing afterwards. At eight o’clock, and under no circumstances was he to be late this time.

Maybe one of the other regrets was that he’d never see how the war ended. If he had done enough to help his country out the way he always wanted to.

So no, Steve didn’t ask to wake up in an unfamiliar hospital, to some nurse who didn’t quite look right and… That was the game Bucky had taken him to. He stared at the radio, horrified revulsion making him stagger up and out and—

Where was he?

As it turned out, he should have been asking when was he, and the answer was something he could never have imagined. 2011.

Over half a century had passed him by, and why? Because someone had been looking for the exact same thing that he had gone down to protect.

Steve didn’t ask for this. To be torn out of his time only to be put in another, more alone than he ever had been. There was no one left alive from the Howling Commandos. Bucky was gone. Peggy was doing poorly enough that he was warned she might not even remember him were he to go visit. He was left on his own, in a body he was still unfamiliar with, and a legacy he didn’t especially want.

He’d just wanted to make the world a better place, was that so bad? Was it bad enough to deserve a fate like this?

They were glad to find him. That’s what everyone said to him, ‘we can’t believe you’re still alive, Captain Rogers, but thank god for that’.

And they told him how much times have changed. That they won the war that he had lost his life for and how the world was better for it.

Steve really wasn’t listening to what they were telling him. All that kept repeating was that ‘Bucky’s not here with me’. And it hurt so badly and he couldn’t stop himself from grasping the old wound on his side because what else could he do?

Hours dragged on before they finally left him alone, in headquarters for an organization called SHIELD that few people seemed to know what it stood for. Director Fury had probably mentioned at some point.

They put him in a room all on his own, almost the same size as the room he and Bucky had always shared, but… It was so much more sterile than anywhere they had ever lived. White walls, white floors, a neatly made bed that looked like no one had ever touched.

When he stripped to shower, he resolutely didn’t look at himself, didn’t so much as glance at his reflection and couldn’t bear to look down, knowing he wasn’t able to see any of Bucky’s scars now. Well. None but the tiny sliver on his pinky from a stray cat but that was always hard to pick out.

He cleaned himself methodically, and only when he was done, towel wrapped around his waist did he decide to get it over with.

It wasn’t hard to swipe away the moisture that had gathered on the glass, but the second that he’d cleared it off to properly look at himself did he freeze.

All along his left shoulder was a scar. Long, gnarled, and angry, cutting across the entire circumference, and…

And that wasn’t there when he went down in the plane. No one had told him that he got injured. No one told him…

Steve’s knees gave out, and he nearly crashed his head on the porcelain sink on the way down. He couldn’t see, really. Couldn’t understand what was going on, because that scar wasn’t his; it couldn’t be his.

God, he was almost sick. Tears stung, blurred his vision and fell to the floor because that wasn’t his goddamned scar and that only meant—

“I left him there,” he whispered. It was nearly a squeak, honestly, too high, too strangled.

Bucky hadn’t died down there. He’d lived for weeks, at the very least. Cold, on his own, probably scared out of his mind and wondering where Steve was and why he hadn’t come for him, like they always promised. End of the line… What a joke.

It felt like so little time had passed before there were agents in his room, asking him questions, trying to help him to bed, asking if he was ok, Captain Rogers, what had happened?

The agent, a man with light brown hair and the sort of face that always looked concerned and maybe a little angry, threw a blanket around him and kept a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder as he talked. Trying to coax out an answer but didn’t brush away the tears.

“What happened to Bucky?” he asked in return, struggling to talk around the knot in his throat that was probably his heart. “James Barnes?”

The man’s brow furrowed, lips pursing. “Died somewhere in Austria. You were there, Captain, remember? On the train?”

And really, that just made Steve collapse where he was seated, almost sobbing at this point as he shook his head. Now reaching to dig his nails into his left shoulder, because he could, because that’s where Bucky… “He lived, I know it, we were… I have…”

More confusion flitted across the man’s face before understanding made itself known. He moved slowly, just like Bucky had always done when Steve was emotionally wrung out, and curled his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “He’d’ve understood, Captain. There’s no way you could have known.”

Surely it was supposed to be consolation, but… Steve should have known. It was Bucky, he had always known with Bucky, hadn’t he? But he didn’t argue further, just curled in on himself in the stranger’s arms and cried.

Steve hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t asked to be pulled out of the ice, didn’t ask to be shoved into what may as well have been a whole new world. Steve didn’t ask to live in a world without Bucky. And he didn’t ask to make Bucky do the same.

And Bucky hadn’t asked for this either, had he? Hadn’t asked to be pulled back into the war, or be used as an experiment for god only knew what, didn’t ask to be paired with Steve. Bucky hadn’t asked to be left in that ravine for who knew how long. He hadn’t asked for whatever happened after Steve left him.

And Steve would never know what that was either.


End file.
